


Ariadne

by erintoknow



Series: Aria [9]
Category: Fallen Hero Series - Malin Rydén, Fallen Hero: Rebirth (Video Game)
Genre: Epilepsy, F/F, Female Friendship, Found Family, POV Female Character, POV Second Person, Slow Burn, Trans Character, Trans Female Character, Transitioning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:27:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21729781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erintoknow/pseuds/erintoknow
Summary: You don't have Chelsea's apartment to come home to every night any more. Unfortunately, finding a new home is proving... problematic. Balancing a civilian life and a life fighting crime is a greater challenge than you had anticipated.Is it really something you can do, all on your own?
Relationships: Anathema & Sidestep (Fallen Hero), Ortega/Sidestep (Fallen Hero)
Series: Aria [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1399939
Comments: 4
Kudos: 28





	1. oh god, not the tacos

**Author's Note:**

> [[Peace To All Freaks by of Montreal]](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UuSfduz-sxk)

“Current occupation?”

“W–what?”

Andrew gives you an extremely tired look. Fiddling with the pen in his fingers he jabs towards a line on the application in front of him. “What do you do for a living?”

“Oh.” You chew at your cheek, tracing lines under the table. “I– um, f–f–freelance?”

He leans back in his chair, one hand straightening the buttons on his white polo shirt. “You freelance.” Oh god. Every one of these tenant interviews have gone terribly. “And what would you say is your annual gross income, then?”

“…gross income?” Wait. No. You remember this one from last time. “Um– w–w–well. It’s…”

“Miss, I don’t believe Rosewood Gardens would be a good fit for you.” Andrew crinkles his nose. “Why don’t we both save each other some time and call this to a close.”

“But–”

He gets up, pushing his seat in and picking up the papers from the desk. “Come back in a few years, once you’ve built up some credit. In the meantime, I’m sure there’s some back alley slum that would better suit your needs.”

“W–well fuck you!” You shoot to your feet, flipping the table over on him. Andrew stumbles to the ground, pinned by a hundred-year-old antique. “Ass!” He says something as you pick up your backpack but you aren’t listening. Storm out the door and kick it shut behind you, hard enough to rattle the windows.

Jerk.

You’re fast running out of options for housing. It would be so much easier if you could just sublease or room with someone but – no. Can’t do that. Can’t have a repeat. Even the remote possibility of someone finding out… Learned your lesson. Not going to make that mistake ever again.

Stomp down the sidewalk without much concern for where you’re going. Hands in your front pocket. Not a lot of jobs you can hold on to while also moonlighting as a vigilante. It’s not like the movies, it turns out. People don’t just excuse you needing to run out of the building at random hours every week. Don’t dare to open a bank account either or set up any sort ‘official’ means by which you could possibly be tracked. Which means holding on to what cash you can get.

Which means…

You slow down as pass a window: clearance sale on spring fashion. Blouses, tunics, khakis, and jean. You shouldn’t. What your wearing is holding up just fine so far – already have a change of clothes in the backpack. A thrift store would be cheaper. You can’t afford to buy even more clothes you’ll never have the guts to wear. But –

You whine, tearing yourself away from the window.

Sometimes you just want to tell people you’re Sidestep. See if that opens any doors for you. It won’t of course. Sidestep is a small time vigilante. Doesn’t even have any powers.

A set of TVs in another window grabs your attention. ‘Echo Park: Under Attack!’ reads the scrolling chevron along the bottom of the screen. An arial shot of the park shows people fleeing as a masked figure in a black cape raises a sword to menace the copter. Whatever they’re screaming, it is inaudible on the muted bank of television.

Echo Park isn’t too far from here.

Good. You needed an excuse to work out some anger.

When you arrive at the park, the fighting is already over. A taco cart has been turned over and birds are already swarming the remains. A few people are scattered about, in equal parts injured and tending to the injured. You frown under your mask. So much for working out your frustrations. But there’s no time for that. There are people who are hurt that need help.

“You!” You point a finger at a worried looking businessman.

He jumps in surprise. “Me!??

“Did anyone call an ambulance yet?”

He looks at you like you’re crazy. “We’re on the news,” flings a hand towards the sky. “Do we _need_ to call?”

“Yes.” Standing up straight you make a point of surveying the park. Echo Park isn’t too large, a square of green ringed by apartments on all sides. But looking is more about masking the fact that you can pick up everything you need to know via telepathy. “Cellphone?”

“Do I have a cellphone? What kind of caveman do you take me for? Of course I have a cellphone.”

“Shut up.” You finish counting and drop your hand, turning to stare down the man. “You – call 911. Tell– tell them there’s 6 injured. One critical.”

“What?” The man crinkles his nose, “Why can’t you do it, you masked weirdo?”

“You’re not busy. Are you?” You add a telepathic push behind the words. Come on. Just make the call. You can’t wait any longer. As soon as the man starts to fumble for his phone, you take off.

Hand on the first aid kit attached to your belt, it’s not a far run to where the woman is bleeding out by the pond. Already on her back. That’s good. Don’t want to move anyone if you can help it.

As you kneel down next to her, she coughs, one leg limp on the ground. The woman has a bloody hand pressed over a red gash across her side, cutting through both shirt and leather jacket. There’s a weak laugh as she notices you. “You’ll… never take me alive… copper.”

You blink, hesitate. “I– w–what?”

She cracks a grin. “Always… wanted to say that.”

You frown under your mask. “Die then.” You lean back and unclip your First Aid Kit, laying it open in front of you.

“Hey, I was…” She winces, “Just joking.”

“I know.” You unfold a clean rag, looking the woman over. “I need to dress the wound. Okay?”

She nods, only to hiss in pain as you carefully move her hand out of the way, you wrap the makeshift bandage over the wound.

“Hold it.” You press down, lightly, but she still winces. “Here. Firm.” You move her hand back to the spot. “Gotta wrap around.”

Try not to think about being in such close contact to a living person. They won’t stay that way if you freak out about this. Lift her back, just enough to pull the bandage around, tie it tight at the opposite end of the wound. “Keep the pressure on.” You admonish as you return to the first aid kit. Don’t really have any other bandages that are the right size.

Fuck.

Shrugging off your jacket. It’s not exactly blood absorbent, but it’s at least another barrier. Don’t care for how exposed it leaves you feeling. The skinsuit alone is a little… form-fitting for comfort. Getting the blood out is going to be a pain latter. You’ll have to… ask Chelsea… there’s a stab in your chest. Fuck. Now’s not the time to think about that.

The woman removes her hand as you press your jacket down over the wound. “Gonna be okay.” You lie. Well. You don’t _want_ it to be a lie. But you don’t know that it’s true either. “How’re y–you feeling?”

“Oh. You know.” The woman smiles. Can feel fear clawing away under her face. “Been better. Light-headed.”

“Blood-loss.”

“Great.”

“Not really.”

She coughs, winces. “Don’t. Don’t make me laugh, please.”

What are you supposed to do in situations like this? What did the Rangers do in that movie you watched the other day…? “Um. Do– do you have a name?”

“Uh. Yeah.” She winces again. “Kat.”

“Sidestep.”

“Yeah. I know.” She arcs an eyebrow. “Seen you in the papers a lot.”

“Sorry I was– wasn’t here in time.”

“I think I can forgive you.”

You don’t look at her face. Keep your eyes focused on your hands pressing down on the wound. “What– what, uh, happened here?”

“Hell,” Kat wheezes, “I dunno. This guy with a sword–”

“A sword?”

“Yeah, that’s what I said. A sword? Really?” She gives weak wave of her arm. “He started yelling this nonsense shit about… fuckin’ what was it? AI uprising? Kicked over Marco’s taco cart.” She shakes her head.

“And this?” You press down.

“Stupidity. Tried to pull him off. He drew his dumb sword on me.”

“I’m… sorry that happened.”

“Yeah. You and me both.”

When the EMTs finally arrive, you give them a nudge your way. More than relieved to let the people with actual training and professional equipment take cover. A man redoes the bandage you did and then you help load Kat onto a gurney.

“Hey.” She raises a hand to give you a bloody pat on the arm. “Most of you lot would have gone running after the bad guy. Thanks for… you know. Saving my life.”

You bite your cheek and look away.


	2. Warriors of Light and Darkness

“And what’dya say yer job was?”

Oh boy. Here we go again. You don’t meet her glare as you look around the tiny room. Is that daylight shining through the hole in the wall? “C–computer repair.”

“kah-kah–ko’puter ‘pair,” she repeats, snickering. “Uh-huh. And where you workin’ at, huh?”

You grind your teeth. Keep your face blank. Don’t show weakness. “Lee’s.”

That gets a surge of interest. “Oh! Lee’s. The old codger what passed last month?”

Oh shit. She knew him? Of course. Of course she knew him. All old people know each other. It’s like some sort of cabal. “His uh– his kids are–”

“Lee don’t got no kids.” Her eyes harden as you turn to look at her. “And I ain’t got no truck for liars. Get outta here.”

“W–what? No!” You take a step towards her, pulling your wallet out of your purse. “Look– Please. I’ve got– I’ve got money. I–”

“I’ve had enough with deadbeats and liars, pretty boy.” You flinch at that. She makes a grab at your hand anyway, and looks through your wallet. “That’s not even twenny green in there anywho.”

She lets go of your hand and you pull it back, flipping your wallet shut.

“Gid out ‘fore I hafta make ya.”

You put your wallet back in your purse and fold your arms tight against your chest. Slam the door to the apartment complex shut behind you. Why does this keep happening? God damn it. Gritting your teeth, spin around and kick hard against the door. It wobbles, popping off its hinges.

“YOU BRAT!” Screams a voice from inside and you freeze. “YER GONNA PAY FOR THAT!”

You don’t wait for her to show. Take off running down the street. Jerk. Deserved it. So sick of embarrassing yourself like this. Day after day. Sometimes multiple times a day. What are you doing wrong? Where are you messing up?

You turn into an alley two blocks down and come to a stop. One hand against the wall as you catch your breath.

God. You miss an intact roof. Lights. TV. Being clean. Shouldn’t have to be breaking into goddamn gyms in the middle of the night just so you can shower. Your hair is getting longer and it’s always greasy. At least all you need to shave is a mirror. Think you might die if you couldn’t.

“F–f–fuck it.” There’s no shortage of abandoned lots, especially ringing the edge of the city. Maybe with some research you can figure out how to leech things like power or running water? Even if you can’t, it has to be better than this. Right? You slummed it when you first got to this city. You can do it again. You’re already doing it, technically.

It’s just–

A scream pierces out over the buzz of the city. Pull further back in the alley. Pull on your mask and wedge the civilian clothes between the dumpster and the wall. Hopefully they’ll still be here when you get back.

If not. Oh well. You’ll get new stuff.

* * *

Don’t have to work hard to find the source of the trouble. A pile-up of cars blocks the road, with their former drivers and onlookers crowding the sidewalk. Can hear some screaming with all the passion of a church sermon.

Don’t even try to push through the crowd. You climb onto the roof of a car. There he is. A heavy set man stands in the middle of the road, smashing computer monitors against the asphalt. “WE MUST STRIKE FIRST!” Is– is that a sword strapped to his back?

You slide down a windshield and balance on the hood of a taxi cab. Raise your hands non-threateningly. “H–hello? Excuse me?”

The man looks up at you and drops the monitor in his hands, eyes wide. “YOU!” He jabs a finger at you. “THE FIRST OF THEIR FOOT SOLDIERS IS ALREADY HERE!”

Oh boy. This guy has lost it. Try to get a read on his thoughts. They’re jagged. Scattered. Seen something. Or… thinks he has at any rate.

“I–I–I’m just– I’ just trying to help.” You fight to keep your voice steady. “My name is… uh– is Sidestep. What’s yours?”

The man narrows his eyes. “In another life, I was called Karl. But now…” He draws his sword, pointing the end at you. “NOW? You may call me The Luddite!”

You keep your face neutral. “That’s… a little on the nose.”

“I HAVE SEEN THE TRUTH!” He cuts at the air, other hand curled into a fist. “I partook of the nectar of gods and now I know that which our dark masters sought to keep hidden!”

He’s… he’s not talking about the hero drug, is he? This guy isn’t seriously a boost, right? As long as you can keep him talking, that’s time he isn’t hurting anybody. “Hide w–what?”

“THE TRUTH!” He swishes the sword for emphasis. “The technological singularity is REAL. It’s HERE. AND IT’S EVIL.” He points the sword at you again. “YOU! Agent of darkness! You think you can walk the world of light and escape unnoticed!?”

You hesitate, struggling to keep up. “W–what? I don’t – what – what are you… talking about?”

“Say your prayers, robot!” Your heat jumps into your throat. “I’ll send you back to your maker in pieces!” With a surprising degree of agility, he jumps at you, sword ready to strike.

You dive off the car, rolling across the asphalt. Can hear the crunch of metal. No small amount of alarm as you get to your feet and see The Luddite turning to face you. Did… did that cheap looking sword of his just cut clean through the front of that taxi?

Duck out of the way again as he rushes you. The Luddite screams and turns, swinging the sword like a baseball bat. Does he not know how to actually use that thing? Small mercies. Twist around behind him and knock him off balance. Luddite recovers faster than you expected, bringing his elbow backwards to jam you hard in the ribcage.

Stagger backwards and duck under in time to avoid the follow-up swing. You grab at his sword arm, twist to force him to drop it. That gets you a yelp as you toss him over your head. The sword clatters to the ground as he hits the asphalt hard, face first.

You step on the handle of the sword with your foot, looking down at the prone form beside you. “Please give up now.”

The Luddite groans, struggling to get on his hands and knees. Fuck. “Darkness… can never win.” He raises his head, glaring at you. “N–not while I draw breath.”

“W–what are you…? Karl. You n–need help.”

“No…” The Luddite takes a breath, shaking his head. “I need… my blade.”

Can feel a strange pull at the back of your head and then you’re falling backwards as Luddite’s sword flies out from under your foot. Flail your arms to try and catch yourself. Pain shots up your left elbow as the arm hits the asphalt and you twist out of the way of Luddite’s blade cutting the ground where you had just fallen.

Okay.

Fuck.

Guess that’s his boost ability answered then.

“Face justice!” Luddite cries out, in another two handed swing down at you. Again you roll out of the way, Kick at his feet as you stand up. He staggers planting his sword in the road to keep balance. “STAND STILL!”

“N–not when you’re trying to–to–to kill me!” You take a step back, taking the chance to catch your breath.

He narrows his eyes at you, pulling the sword of the road. He points it at you again. “Your very existence is a mockery of life.” This– this guy is just crazy, right? He’s just spouting nonsense right? You can feel what he’s thinking. He doesn’t actually, like _know_ anything, right?

The Luddite years his arm back, chucking the sword like a javelin. It goes wide, jamming itself in the door of car caught in an angle down the middle of the road. You blink, turn back to him. “You missed.”

He smirks. “Did I?”

“Y–yeah. Yeah you did.”

“But did I… _really_?”

There’s a creak of metal and your thrown prone to the ground as something slams hard into your back. Something sharp and heavy scratching up your side as you try to get clear. Bite back the scream in your throat, white in your vision.

Luddite catches the sword by the handle, flicks the blade and the car door stuck the end slides to the ground. He takes a triumphant step towards you. “Tell ‘em who sent you, robot.”


	3. don't try and comfort me

“Hey!”

The new voice makes Luddite stop in his tracks, spinning to find the source.

A woman in a bright blue skinsuit with yellow lighting bolt accents climbs into sight, standing on the roof of car. “You guys look like you’re having fun.” She brushes her braid back over her shoulder. “Can I join?”

“Charge!” A wave of relief washes over you as you get to your feet. If the Marshal’s here, the rest of this fight should be cake. Even with your telepathy in your favor, Julia Ortega is a way better fighter than what it feels like you’ll ever be.

“CONSPIRATOR!” Luddite screams, face turning red. “TRAITOR! YOUR AFFECTION FOR LIES SHALL BE YOUR UNDOING!”

Charge glances past him at you, raising an eyebrow. “Haha. What?”

You shake your head, cup your hands around your mouth. “Watch out for the sword!”

She smirks. “That thing? It looks like a toy?” She jumps to the ground. “But if our new friend here wants to play…” She grins, flashing teeth. “I can play.”

You groan. Goddamnit Charge.

The Luddite charges at her, swinging his dumb, trashy-looking sword. Charge laughs, stepping around him bringing her fist to punch as he goes pass.

That’s not what happens.

What happens is her fist swerves wildly, pulling her off balance. Luddite turns on his heel, slashing at her. Charge recovers in time to pull out of the way, but the smile on her face is gone now.

Oh.

His power isn’t some sort of weird sword thing. It’s… over metal? Well fuck. You hang back, looking for an opening as the two of them exchange blows. Without knowing what Charge is thinking there’s too big a risk to just jump back in. Goddamnit Charge, why can’t you read her thoughts like everyone else’s?

Even without your help it seems like Charge is slowly coming out on top. She may not have your telepathy but she sure moves quick enough to make up for it. Gets a few good hits in despite having the occasional arm or leg jerk out of control on her. Luddite can never seem to press his advantage.

He jumps back, breathing hard. “Though your BODY is tainted, there is still hope for your soul! Lay down and accept judgement!”

“Oh? I love this kind of stuff.” Charge shuffles her feet as the two circle each other. “Lemme try, because I think…” Charge pushes off in a jump at Luddite, “You’ll be in for a shock!” Fist crackling with static electricity. Luddite just barely pulls to the side in the time to avoid getting punched in the face.

Charge plants her foot and turns to bring fist around to catch Luddite. She spins too far, pulled along by the metal in her arm, opening up her side. Goddamnit Charge.

“REPENT!” He screams, bringing the sword across in an uppercut. Charge turns on her ankle, with the direction of the blade and falls to her knees, clutching at her side.

“Charge!” You run towards the two of them. What was she thinking?

Charge presses down on her abdomen with a bloody hand, helping the skinsuit keep pressure on the wound. There’s a bitter laugh – waiting for the follow-up blow.

Luddite doesn’t get the chance.

You tackle him to the ground. Knee him in the chest and grab him by the shoulders slamming him back on the ground hard enough to snap his head back against the pavement. The bastard tries to kick you off him. Twist to the side before his leg can connect, springing back to your feet. Stomp down on his sword hand. Once, twice, can feel some crack under your boot as he lets go. Kick the sword with the back of your heel away from him.

Feel the pull in the back of your head again and this time you don’t give Luddite the chance. Kick him hard in the stomach. Repeatedly. Until the pressure stops. He coughs, wheezing for air. Can feel the sudden turn to panic in his thoughts. No quarter this time. Follow up with a kick to the face as he curls up trying to protect his core. “Fucking. Stay down.” You hiss kicking again and sending a spurt of blood shooting from his almost certainly broken nose.

There’s a pained whimper in response right before Luddite passes out.

You stand there, staring down at the limp body, chest heaving.

God.

Fuck.

You flex your fingers, try to stay standing. Fuck. You really went ham on him. Been – been trying to keep better control than that. Fuck.

There’s a groan from behind you and you straighten your stance. Fuck! Charge! Spin on your heel and dash back to her side. Drop to your knees at her side, “Charge! Fucking– Charge, are you okay?”

She coughs, looking up at you with a shaky smile. Makes a thumbs up

“Okay – okay, um– keep uh, keep pressure on that cut, fuck, uh–” You lean back on your heels, pat down for your medkit. Unclip it from your belt and pop open the box. Antiseptic, bandages,

Bandages that would be really useful right now.

Don’t have your jacket on you either. Shit.

Don’t think just act fuck it – You reach a hand back and pull your mask off up and over. Wince as your eyes readjust to the sunlight. Stretch the fabric tight. Shove Charge’s hands out of the way and press it hard against the wound. Just need to apply pressure until the bleeding stops or the EMTs finally arrive. Whichever happens first.

Charge’s eyes widen as work. Can feel your heart pounding in your chest, throat. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about her looking at you. Looking at your awful face. Fuck. You must be giving her a death glare or something because she coughs and moves a hand down to press on the wound with you. “Sorry for… ruining your mask.”

You look up, lock eyes with her. Shake your head, break eye contact. “Jesus. You’re an – an idiot, you know that?” You swallow hard against the tight pain in your throat. Pressure at the corners of your eyes. “I–I–I don’t care about the fucking mask.” You bite down hard on your cheek and wince. “What the hell Charge? What the–the–the fuck were you th–thinking?”

She won’t. Stop staring. Goddamnit. Stop looking. “Didn’t think it was a real sword.”

You give a weak laugh. “Tried to tell you.” Already you can hear the distant sound of sirens growing louder. “Fuck.”

“What’s wrong?” Charge tries to sit up and you firmly push her back down.

“Stay still. You’ll make it–it–it worse.” You hunch your head down between your shoulders. Fuck. The police. The EMTs. Everyone watching… any journalists. Fuck fuck fuck.

“Hey.” A hand grips your wrist and you freeze up. “Hey, are you okay?”

Glare down at your hands, holding your mask taunt against the wound. Definitely going to have to buy a new mask. “Fuck.” Swallow hard, can feel everyone pressing down against you. “Y–y–you’re the injured one. Don’t– don’t try and comfort _me_.”

“We won, yeah?” She smirks up at you, tries to laugh only to wince. “Fight’s over.”

“Y–y–you’re bleeding out… old woman.” You glance up, shoot a death glare at the teenager milling at the front of the crowd. Everyone just staring. Staring at you. Fuck. Shit. Goddamnit. “I–I–I need– I need to go.”

The hand on your wrist tightens. “Don’t.”

“I–I–I can’t.” You hunch down again, try to hide your face as well as you can. “Everyone c–c–can see. Take – take pictures. They’re gonna – gonna…” Bad enough Charge had to see, but there wasn’t any other choice. You need to go. Need to go now. Minimize the damage. Need to go find some whole in the ground and hide for one million years.

“Hey. Hey, look at me.” You force yourself to meet Charge’s eyes. “Anyone tries to take a picture, I’ll make ‘em regret it. Promise.”

You choke back something that’s between a laugh and a sob. “Easy for you to – to say.”

“Just you see,” another tired grin. Charge. Always so fucking smug.

Press down harder on the wound until the grin turns into a pained grimace. “Says the–the–the fucker that got winged by a – by a fucking ripoff katana.” You straighten up. Can feel the change in the mood of the crowd. “They’re almost here. I – I _have_ to go.”

“At least…”

You glare back down at here. “What?”

“Tell me your name?”

You stare, incredulous. “You uh– you know my name.”

“I mean your real name?”

You feel light headed. Dizzy. Have to consciously force yourself to breath normally. “Sidestep.”

“That’s not–”

“It’s Sidestep.” You let go of your mask, tear your hand out of Charge’s grip and – fuck, she delayed you too long. The EMTs are already forcing their way through the crowd. You step back as they move to Charge’s side. Police already fanning out around the area. You can’t – you can’t be here.

You can’t go back.

Can’t.

“Sidestep!” Charge keeps calling after you but hell if you’re stopping for anything. Hunch your head down between your shoulders as you twist through the crowd, down an alley. Don’t stop running.


	4. CODFISH

It takes a week to get the money together to commission a new mask. Have to be trickier about it this time. Sidestep’s increasing association with the Rangers is not all upside. Been tracking the discussion on the Los Diablos Usenet when you can get a turn at the library’s public computer. If any pictures surface that’s where they’ll appear first. So far it’s been people trading vague 2nd-hand descriptions. Red hair is the one consistent detail they share but no one can seem to agree on the rest.

When the thread devolves into a flame war about how ‘Sidestep can’t possibly be black’ you stop reading. Everyone’s just self-projecting on to Sidestep. Don’t know how to feel about that, but if it keeps anyone from knowing what you look like, you’ll take it.

What to do about Charge is another matter entirely. Doesn’t feel like you’re any better equipped to handle that problem either.

So you try to act like it never happened. Avoid the Rangers altogether. You’re sure Steel would be pleased. He’s been giving you the stink-eye every time you’ve come by the Headquarters.

It would have worked too except…

“No drunks.”

“Wha–?” The door slams in your face. Didn’t even get inside for a tour of the room that time. Fight to keep your face neutral. Can feel the pressure welling behind your eyes, noses. “I don’t– I don’t even drink…”

Fuck if don’t feel like starting at this point.

You shove your hands in your hoodie. It’s almost a relief when you see the news copter cut through the sky overhead. Headed downtown? No, is it hovering over the LDPD jail? Try trace what you see to the mental map in your head. Jailbreak?

As you follow the copter the tenor of the crowd ahead confirms that, yes, _something_ is going down you duck into an alley again. Pull in your new mask. Stow your civilian clothes. Hope nobody steals your purse again. Still technically owe a fine for that Greek mythology book. Got your jacket back and first aid kit restocked now. No more excuses. There won’t be another –

You turn the corner and stop. “Luddite!?”

At the doorway to the county jail, the heavyset man in an orange jumpsuit kicks a police office down the stairs and into the street. Around the base of the building a circle of groaning bodies in police uniforms. You get the distinct feeling that more than a few officers are playing possum.

He spots you running across the street and turns red in the face, screaming. “AGENT OF DARKNESS! YOU CAN NOT SNUFF THE LIGHT SO EASILY!”

You slow to stop at the base of steps. Narrow your eyes as you glare up at him under your mask. Fighting him the first time was enough a trial. Don’t really care for a sequel. “What.. what kind of world do you live in?”

He bristles at that. “A WORLD OF JUSTICE!”

You get just enough warning to throw yourself out of the way as a thick metal pole comes flying at you out from the pile of crumpled bodies at the base of the jailhouse. A bar from a cell? Did they… seriously…?

You need to get him away from mess. “You… you really think I’m uh, I’m this dark evil thing… huh?”

Luddite’s lips curl in a sneer as stars down at you. “So! You ADMIT you’re misdeeds!”

“Y–yeah. Sure.” You cough. “I’m uh– I’m pretty bad.” You’re tricking him and you don’t even have to lie to do it.

“Then stand straight and face judgement!”

You shake your head. “Nah.” You turn tail and run.

Behind you, Luddite sputters. “Coward! CODFISH! You won’t escape so easily!”

He’s running after you. Great. Perfect. You give the crowd a nudge, encouraging them to get out of the way as you run down the street. Behind you, Luddite shouts more epithets, giving chase. The memorial park for the 80’s quake isn’t far from here. Get out there and there shouldn’t be as much metal that be turned against you.

Or a gate can pop off its hinges and slam into your chest, knocking you backwards against the ground.

“HAH! MY POWERS GROW WITH EVERY PASSING HOUR!”

The metal bars press against you, harder as you try to press back, wiggle free. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He’s getting closer. A hell of a lot faster than you would assume from his body type.

There’s a crackle of lighting followed by a scream. You can’t lift your head but you hear Charge laugh. She’s close by. “What’s that? You want a rematch?”

“TRAITOR!”

“Haha, I really want to like you but…” Charge’s voice drops. “You had me in stitches last time.”

Was… was that a pun?

The pressure holding you down lessons and then another face appears in your vision. “Hey Starstuck, you need a hand?”

You hiss as Anathema helps you to your feet, pushing the gate off yourself. “I t–t–told you to stop calling me that.”

“I just call ‘em like I see ‘em.” Anathema winks with a grin. “So what was your plan here?”

“Well…” You sigh, glancing down towards the park before focusing back on the fight. Charge and Luddite dancing around each other. “I was _trying_ to–to–to get him into the park.”

“Why?”

“He can control metal.”

“Yeah, that’s fair.” Anathema purses her lips. “The rest of the Rangers are on their way. As soon as we heard there was a jailbreak, we didn’t want to take any chances.”

A note of alarm prods at the back of your mind. You jerk your head up. “Charge! Down!”

She glances at you. “Wha–” The flat end of a metal pole smacks into the back of her head, knocking her flat.

“Fuck!” You don’t wait for Anathema. Goddamnit Charge. Okay, this one was at least partially your fault but still, _goddamnit Charge_.

Luddite takes a step backwards as you barrel down at him. Something in your expression giving him pause. “It wasn’t me this time – uh I mean – AGENT OF DARKNESS YOU ARE–” He doesn’t get to finish his sentence. You knock him flat, re-breaking his nose. You give him a kick between the legs for good measure before turning to Charge. “Are you okay!?”

She shakes her head, taking your offered hand up. Spits out a wad of blood. “‘ang ‘ink I ‘it mah ‘ongue.”

“Uh, _guys_ heads up?” The urgency in Anathema’s voice sets you on edge. Might be what saves you as another metal pole comes flying. You shove Charge back down to the ground, throwing yourself prone as well. The metal rod slams into the road beside you with an ominous shudder.

Charge groans. “Oh ‘hat ‘ow?”

You pick up the intention before you find the person responsible. Grab Charge and pull the both of you hard to the right at the same time Anathema shouts out another warning. A third metal pole crashes into the road. This one hits the asphalt hard enough to stick.

Get back on your knees and see the figure glaring at the three of you from down the street. Must be over six feet tall and built like a truck. Thoughts feel warped. Latent telepathy? You pull back your sense quick and hope he didn’t notice you. “Who the…?”

Charge gets to her feet, balling her fists. “icho’ath’r…” She winces, flexes her jaw. “‘ou ‘on’t ‘ave ‘oo’ ‘o dis!” She yells. Winces, curses in jumbled Spanish under her breath.

You glance at Anathema as she joins the two of you. “This is…?” You whisper to her.

She meets your look, “Psychopathor. We literally just arrested him last week. Didn’t even face trail yet.” She shrugs, hands up. “Welp! Guess that didn’t last long.”

“‘ome on, ‘ough ‘uy!” Charge pounds her chest. “‘et’s go!”

Psychopathor glares, flexing his hands. For a moment it looks like he might take the bait. Then he turns and runs.

Charge growls, spits on the ground. “‘amn. I mean. Damn. Well. That’s another headache to deal with.” She winces, rubs at the back of her head. “Literally.”

You glance after where Psychopathor vanished into the maze of streets. “Shouldn’t we… like? Go after him?”

Charge looks at you, a glint in her eye. “You up for it? Put that uncanny tracking talent of yours to a different use?”

You shrink back at that. “Uh–”

“Com’on, Sidestep, we can get him now before he hooks up with his old buddies.” She frowns. “Or his guns.”

Anathema steps between the two of you. “We’ve still got this Luddite guy to watch. And anyone else to track down. And you just got–”

“Great, thanks for volunteering to coordinate the team, Anathema!” She claps the other woman on the shoulder. “Hold the fort down for us, will you?”

Anathema closes her eyes. Sighs. Reopens them and gives a mocking salute to Charge. “Yessir, Marshal.”


	5. minotaur

It takes a block of running in the direction you last saw Psychopathor before you pick back up on his mental presence. He doesn’t know a telepath is trailing him so whatever base-line latent sensitivity he has going on is working against him. His mind effectively a beacon as you lead Charge through the twisting streets and back alleys of the city.

“You sure he’s this way?” Charge hesitates as you start down a blind alley. “It looks like a dead end.”

You stop. Glance back at her. “D–d–do you trust me?”

She crinkles her nose, doubt written on her face. “But how do you know?”

“Look just – trust me or don’t. This uh– this was your idea.”

Charge looks at you and something in her expression changes but you can’t quite read it. “I trust you.” She puts her hand out towards you.

Swallow the butterflies in your throat. Look at her hand, you grab it and turn back, down the alley. Into the dark. “Then come on. He’s getting away.”

This isn’t a part of the city you’ve explored much yet. You have to build your map as you go, skimming the thoughts and mental presences of the residents around you to get a sense of the pathway between you and Psychopathor. Take the shortcuts as they become apparent. His head start was pretty sizable, but he’s starting to slow down. The two of you are gaining on him.

“So…” Charge’s tone of voice is weirdly conversational for your situation. “You’re a redhead.”

You glance back at her. Don’t get distracted goddamnit. “So?”

“Dyed?”

“No.”

“Natural?” Her voice perks up. You don’t look back this time, drag along behind you by the hand. “That’s pretty rare. Especially on the west coast. I guess the curls are natural too then?”

She was fucking bleeding out on the ground and she noticed your flattened matted-out hair was curly? “S–so what?”

“So nothing.” There’s a pause. “You’ve got really nice hair.” Another, increasingly awkward pause. “It’s a shame you hide it all the time.”

“It’s not– I– uh– you’ve got n–n–nice hair too.” You finish lamely. Can feel your face burning under your mask.

“¡Gracias!” Can practically hear her preening. “I put a damn lot of work into this braid every morning, you wouldn’t believe–”

“Shut up.” You hiss, coming to a sharp stop.

“Sorry, was that too much–?”

“N–no, uh, I mean. We’re almost there.” You put a finger to your lips. Charge’s eyebrows shoot up and she nods. Her expression turns serious. She lets go of your hand – which suddenly feels far too cold on it’s own – and creeps up along side you.

You thumb towards a building on your right. Psychopathor’s inside. Can pick him up, clear as daylight. Even over the sound of the TV blaring some dumb soap opera. Charge moves to peek in the window and you pull her back. Wait until he turns away then give her the okay. She pokes her head up, mouthing something then pulls back. Looks to you and nods towards the door. You take position to one side as Charge stands in front, bracing her shoulder.

You raise three fingers and she nods.

Two fingers.

One finger.

Charge slams into the door, knocking it off the hinges. There’s a yelp of surprise from inside as you follow in behind.

Charge tosses the broken door to the floor.“Time to turn yourself in, tough guy!”

Psychopathor stands up from the kitchen table, fury boiling off him. “You fuckin’ pricks don’t know when to leave well enough along do you?”

“Hey, you know our motto,” Charge smirks. “The Rangers always get their man.”

You move before Psychopathor can throw his chair, striking at his arm. He grunts and then catches you in the chest, sending you flying sideways, catching your ribs on the edge of a countertop.

You wheeze, a sharp line of pain running up your chest as you gasp for air. Charge moves in, arms crackling with static electricity. Psychopathor kicks the chair at her, forcing her to jump aside.

“You really think you two runts can take me on alone?”

Charge laughs. “You’ve got no back-up, and no weapons Psychopathor. I like those odds.”

“That so…?” Can see him reach behind his back. The thought starting to form in his head. Fuck.

“Charge! Down!”

Charge throws herself flat to the ground as Psychopathor tosses something into the air, squeezing his eyes shut and turning away.

A burst of light and sound blinds and deafens.

“–––!”

Pick up the intention in time to dodge the fist aimed for your stomach. Move to get out of the way. Stumble over something. Another chair? Shock of pain in your hands as you break your fall. Twist out of the way of a descending foot. Can’t dodge the kick, re-whiting your vision just as it was starting to clear.

Through the ringing in your ears can hear something clatter like it’s a million miles underwater and the crackle of electricity. Psychopathor changes focus away from you. Take the chance to draw back. Sharp pain in your chest. Definitely cracked something. Aw, fuck. Blind grope for something to grab onto and pull yourself up.

Blink your eyes rapidly as if that’ll clear your vision any faster. Look up in time to see Pyschopathor punch a hole in the drywall as Charge ducks out of the way. The two have moved out of the kitchen space and into the wider living room. Static electricity arcs up Charge’s arms as she steps back.

And then something very strange happens.

As Charge releases an arc of lightning, Psychopathor grabs the TV, pulling it between the two of them. The screen flashes violently, before exploding into a cloud of smoke sending Psychopathor reeling backwards. Simultaneously, Charge staggers backwards until she hits the wall, clutching at her head. A small groan and she drops to the floor.

“Fuck–” You grit your teeth and grab at a glass left out of the counter, tossing it at Psychopathor. The glass shatters against his arm and he turns on you, moving back towards the kitchen.

He doesn’t seem to understand what just happened any better than you do and you’re not about to give him time to figure it out. You step backwards, holding yourself up against the counter. “When – when the–the-the rest of the team gets here, you’re fucked. Asshole.”

He growls, glancing towards the door. Are you bluffing? He doesn’t understand how you followed him to begin with. Can’t risk it. Picks up a lamp from the table by the sofa, and yanks it free. Tosses it in your direction forcing you to dive to the floor.

By the time you get back up, Psychopathor is gone out the door.

Holy shit.

Fuck – Charge.


	6. Ariadne

You stagger over to her. Even as you approach, her movements, stiff and jerking seem to be slowing down. A line of drool running down the side of her mouth. “Charge…?” She doesn’t respond. Something cold and sharp twists in your gut.

When she stops moving you carefully approach, kneeling down next to her. “Charge?”

It feels like forever before she moves again, a wheezing breath, hands scrambling for purchase. Gently you help her sit up against the wall. “Aw… no quiero ir a la esuela…”

What? You stare at her. “¿Qué?

“Pero no conozco a nadie allí, Papá… ¿Por qué nos fuimos? No es justo, Papá.”

You chew your lip. Not sure how to respond to that. School? Moving? What? Charge lolls her head to the side, mouth quirks into a smile. “Eeeey… Pelirroja!”

You close your eyes and sit back on your legs. Never should have let her see your face. Next time, Charge can just bleed out for all you care.

Her smile fades, dips down into a frown. “Oh…” She groans, and brings a hand to her face. “¡Maldita! Fuck. Meirda.”

You tense up. “…Charge?”

She turns her head to look at you again, suddenly looking very tired. “Hey ‘step.” She closes her eyes and groans. Wipes at her mouth with the back of her hand. “Merida, sorry you had to see that.”

“W–what happened? Are you okay…?”

“I take my meds… I know my triggers…”

“Charge.”

She sighs, doesn’t meet your gaze. “Merida. Ah, fuck it. Look, Sidestep. I’m uh… I’m an epileptic.”

“Oh.” You fidget, scratching at your arm. “Okay.”

That gets her to look at you. “You uh… don’t have more of a reaction than that? No… thoughts to share?”

“Um. Should I…?” You chew at your cheek. Was there something else you were supposed to say? Did you screw up somewhere again? “I’m just… glad you’re okay…?”

Charge’s expression softens. “Thanks.” She slumps back against the wall, sliding down. “Guess we’re not catching the old monster today.”

Epilepsy? People get that from brain trauma right? Trying to remember what you had read last year. Had skimmed through a _lot_ of books without really grasping much. ‘Abnormal’ brain activity, seizures… wait – But then – And all this time you were – Was she with the Farm? Was there some special Marshal perk? No it was nothing it was just – she was only – It’s fine.

Everything’s fine.

Charge arcs an eyebrow at you, looking absolutely exhausted. “Wanna share what’s so funny with the rest of the class, amiga?”

You freeze. Where you… laughing out loud. Oh god. “Sorry. Sorry.” Fuck. “Uh– okay. Uh. I… I wasn’t laughing at you.”

“Didn’t say you were.”

Fuck.

“I’m telepathic!” You blurt out. Vertigo seizes you, hands clapping over your mouth. Oh you idiot, why did you say that? It takes an act of will to force your hands down.

Charge’s full focus is on you now, it’s enough to make you shrink back a bit. “I knew it.”

Goddamnit, are you really that bad at keeping it secret? “I–I–I can– I can read people’s minds. Most people’s.”

“Most people’s.” Charge repeats.

“Not yours. I couldn’t– I couldn’t figure out why. It was d–d–driving me crazy. And it turns out…”

Understanding dawns across Charge’s face. “You can’t read mine… because my brain is broken.”

“What–? No, not – not broken. Charge. You aren’t broken. Th–that’s crazy.”

She shakes her head. “You don’t need to–”

“You’re not broken.” You cut her off, desperate for her to believe you. “D–d–do you know how much… effort people put into being immune to telepathy? Some of those drugs… really bad.” You shake your head. “You get it for free.”

“Well.” Charge purses her lips, staring up at the ceiling. “I guess I can start an ‘upsides’ column now.”

“You’re not broken.” You repeat. Nose itching, pressure in your eyes. “You’re not.” A thought occurs to you and you tilt your head, “You’re not so… please [don’t think that way](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20222647). Okay?”

Charge lays there, not responding for what feels like an hour. Finally she shifts position, pushing herself back up. “Alright.” She cocks her head to you, her old smirk returning. “We’ll give it a try.”

“All I can – all I can ask.” You take her head, help pull her back to her feet.

Ah. Fuck it.

You swallow down the nausea. “Ariadne.” Been mulling over that one all week.

Ortega looks at you, “Pardon?”

“My um. My name. You… you asked the other day.” You take a breath, hold it, let it go. “Ariadne Becker.”

“Ariadne Becker…” She repeats. Something about hearing someone else say it for the first time. It’s strange. Can feel goosebumps on the back of your neck. “Huh. Ari?”

“I– Huh?”

“Nickname?”

“Oh. I– I guess that works.”

“Nice to meet you, Ari.”

You smile under the mask. Can’t stop yourself. “Nice– um. Nice to meet you too. Uh. Ortega.”

“Now let’s get home before everyone gets worried.” Ortega laughs. “Well, more worried.”

"I'll lead the way."


End file.
